


On the Nature of Romance

by AndreyaHalms



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Other pairings exist but they're not the endgame, Past Relationship(s), Slice of Life, fem!madara - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreyaHalms/pseuds/AndreyaHalms
Summary: Hashirama and Madara, and their lives together and apart (but mostly together).(A series of interconnected one-shots with Hashirama and fem!Madara. Work can be read as complete at any point in time.)
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	On the Nature of Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Madara crashes a date, Mito is a good sport and Hashirama has burning questions regarding the logistics of women's fashion.

* * *

Hashirama has no clue how he managed to land someone like Mito Uzumaki. Obviously, she’s very pretty, but she’s also smart and dignified, can hold a conversation on just about anything, and has this confident, reassuring air around her. In contrast, Hashirama generally feels like a stupid, sweaty kid with dirt on his face in her presence.

It’s Saturday night and they’re in his apartment in one of the student housing complexes a few kilometres off campus. They’ve just put away the very elaborate meal he’d prepared for the occasion and have migrated to the couch with a very nice bottle of wine.

“See,” Mito is saying, dangly earrings glittering in the dim lighting he'd spent hours setting up, “I agree with you, but I also think self-deprecating humour comes from a place of insecurity and anxiety. I mean, it’s easier when you get to control one which of your flaws people are laughing at.”

Hashirama laughs. “Well, anxiety or self-awareness, I suppose it depends on the individual. Excuse me, will you?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Hashirama refills her glass and goes to the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He finishes his business and is wiping his hands on the towel when he hears the bell ring. It makes him pause, he hadn’t been expecting anyone tonight, and especially not at this hour. Hashirama allows himself a perfunctory glance in the mirror, fixes his collar, and walks back to the living room just in time to see Madara, who’s dressed in a black little backless number stumble face-first into Mito, who had clearly taken upon herself to answer the door.

“When the fuck did you grow tits,” Madara growls at Mito with her customary bluntness, almost giving Hashirama a heart attack.

“Puberty?” Mito says with a confused little smile.

Madara tilts her head up and blinks owlishly at Mito, clearly drunk. Genuine horror spreads across her face. “Shit. I forgot about this. Sorry, I’ll take my leave now.”

She tries to retreat, miscalculates where to put her feet, and totters dangerously. She would have snapped her ankle in half, had it not been for Mito steadying her.

“Good reflexes,” Madara comments, and then decides to take that as an invitation to snuggle into Mito’s...bosom. “Mm, you smell nice too. What perfume do you use?”

“Mei Terumi’s Hidden Mist,” Mito says and shoots Hashirama a look that’s equal parts amused and bemused. 

Hashirama snaps out of his horror-induced stupor, and tries to interject. “Madara—”

Madara either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him. Probably the latter. She peers up at Mito. “God, you’re even prettier up close. If I weren’t straight, I’d totally fuck you.”

“Thank you,” Mito says gamely, while Hashirama wrings his hands and says, “Mito, I’m so, so sorry. Ignore her, she’s drunk. Madara, come on, let’s get you to bed—”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you useless idiot,” Madara snaps in his direction. Still half-supported by Mito, she leans down, pulls off a sharp and pointy shoe, and throws it at Hashirama with unerring aim. He yelps and tries to dodge the flying footwear, but it manages to hit him in the arm. The arm in question throbs, but at least Mito doesn’t look entirely offended or weirded out, so the situation can still be salvaged. Hopefully.

“No, seriously,” Madara continues, unsteadily taking off her other stiletto, hair all over her face, and chucking it at Hashirama’s general direction as well. It misses him by a large margin this time and hits the wall. Once both her feet are level, she goes back to cuddling Mito. “Did I tell you how pretty you are? And soft? Did Hashirama?”

“Madara!” Hashirama hisses, face warm with embarrassment. “Stop it!”

Mito begins to shake with silent laughter. She meets Hashirama’s panicked gaze, eyes sparkling, and says, “He didn’t, no.”

“Well, he should,” Madara grumbles. “Fucker doesn’t know how to properly woo a woman.” She cups Mito’s face, tilting it this way and that. “God, look at that skin. Look at those _wings._ Wow. I wish I was half as pretty as you.”

“Oh, honey,” Mito laughs. Smiling widely, she pats Madara’s disheveled curls, which makes Madara turn a little bit more boneless. “You know you’re gorgeous, right?”

Madara scrunches her face, disgruntled. “Yeah, in a femme fatale kinda way. Like, the chick who turns up just to look sexy and doesn’t contribute much to the plot. But you! You’re like the nice, distinguished, lady that the guy spends the whole movie chasing even though she's way out of his league.”

“I don’t know,” Mito says seriously, though she still looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Traditionally, yes, the femme fatale archetype has catered to the male fantasy, but if done right, it’s also very empowering. I can tell you fall in the second category.”

“Oh, I’m plenty empowered.” Madara says imperiously. She frowns at something in the distance as a new thought comes to her, then glances rapidly between Hashirama and Mito, before breaking out into a sharp grin. “The two of you would make such beautiful children. Hashirama, you better have as many kids as possible, okay? And I’ll be the cool spinster aunt who spoils them rotten and then fucks off to live a life of glamour and adventure so that she doesn’t have to deal with the hard parts of being a parent.” Abruptly, she switches tracks again. “Mito, babe, can I interest you in a threesome? I mean, I’d rather we do without Hashirama, but if you—”

“Okay!” Hashirama exclaims loudly. “Let’s stop that thought right there.”

“Jesus, don’t be a _prude._ If you can’t be a slut in your early twenties, then when else?”

“Madara, you need to lie down. Come on, let’s get you somewhere far more comfortable, okay? I’m sure Mito’s getting tired of holding you up.”

“I’m really not,” Mito giggles.

“Hah!” Madara crows. “I knew it, you insecure bastard. You’re just jealous that _your_ girlfriend is holding _me.”_

“Right,” Hashirama says briskly. “Mito, if you could just transfer — oops, careful — yeah. Perfect. Thanks.”

“Hey, what the actual fuck, dickhead. I wasn’t done talking with the lady.”

“You’ll thank me for this in the morning,” Hashirama mutters. To Mito, he shoots a sincerely apologetic grimace and says, “Stay right here. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Unhand me, you giant brute,” Madara grunts, beginning to squirm as Hashirama tries to wrestle her into the bedroom. A part of him is genuinely worried that the flimsy backless, strapless thing she’s wearing will come apart as they grapple with each other, but they manage to reach their destination without anything being accidentally flashed.

Madara stops struggling the moment she hits the mattress, and just lays there motionless, bare feet sticking out of the bed. Hashirama lifts her hair out of the way, carefully unclasping the jewelry around her neck and ears so that nothing pokes her in sleep, and hefts her legs so that she’s lying fully on the bed. He puts a pillow near her head in case she decides she needs one and covers her with the duvet.

“Hashirama,” Madara mumbles sleepily just as he’s about to leave.

“Hm?”

“Give...Give Mito my number. Ask ‘er to...text me.”

Despite himself, Hashirama bites back a smile. “Sure, Madara.”

He gives himself around twenty seconds to despair before bracing himself and striding out to the living room. Mito’s still there, thank goodness, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in each hand. She quirks her eyebrow at him and he tries to not show her how overwhelming the mortification he’s currently experiencing is.

He sits down beside her and takes the proffered glass. “I cannot begin to tell you how very sorry I am.”

Mito chuckles. “Really,” she says, voice warm. “Stop apologising. It’s okay. I've dealt with enough drunk women to know how they can get. Is Madara fine?”

Hashirama shrugs and tips the wine back. “Probably? She drops by after her parties sometimes if she wants to drink more. I had told her I have a date tonight, but she must have forgotten about it somewhere in the midst of all that alcohol.”

“I have to be honest, she wasn’t quite what I was expecting.”

“Oh?”

“I mean...don’t take this the wrong way, but she has a certain, well, reputation on campus.”

“If you want to call her a bitch, you can call her a bitch.”

“That’s...not exactly the word I was going to use. Hashirama, should you really be saying these things about your friend?”

"I don't mean it with malice," Hashirama laughs at the absurdity of the notion. “She puts in a lot of effort in maintaining the persona. Her words, not mine. She loves it when people are terrified of her.”

“Well, _I_ thought she was very cute.”

“Oh, she’ll hate you for that.”

Mito laughs. “I’d like to meet her properly one day. If she wants to.”

“She wanted me to give you her number, actually. But, well. It was the alcohol speaking.”

Mito smiles and takes his hand. “It’s okay.”

Hashirama leans in and kisses her. Her mouth is soft, and tastes like the wine they’d been drinking. Madara had been right — she does smell nice; he regrets how he’d been too nervous to notice it earlier. They startle apart when there’s a crash from the bedroom, followed by the bathroom door clicking open and the sound of Madara retching.

“Do you want to go check that out?” Mito asks, concerned.

Hashirama finishes the rest of his wine. “Eh, she’s perfectly capable of handling herself.”

“If you say so,” Mito says dubiously.

Hashirama gently nudges her down on the couch, and the both of them carefully place their wine glasses on the floor. Mito frees her hair from her artful bun and pulls him down, guiding their lips together. When they break for air, Hashirama stares giddily down at her. Her face is flushed prettily, pupils blown wide, and a smile lurks at the corner of her lips.

“Do you want to stay the night?” He blurts out.

She blinks twice at him. “Madara’s occupying the only bed that you own.”

“Oh, I’ll move her to the couch,” Hashirama says quickly. “She’s cool, she won’t mind.”

Mito stares at him for a second longer before bursting into laughter.

Hashirama blushes. “What?” He asks plaintively.

“Nothing.” She kisses him once. “I think I’ll be heading back tonight. Maybe next time?”

“Sure! I mean, yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

They make out some more, before Hashirama says breathlessly, “Mito, I have a question.”

“Hm?”

Hashirama traces the swell of her lip with his thumb. It’s red and slick with their spit. “You saw the kind of dress that Madara was wearing. How do girls manage to keep these things on? I mean, one wrong move and shouldn’t it just...slide off?”

Mito stares blankly at him. “You’re asking me why Madara’s dress did not slide off?”

“You’re going to laugh at me again,” Hashirama accuses.

Mito’s shoulders quiver, and there’s laughter in her eyes, but her voice is steady when she says, “Double-sided tape.”

“What, really? So people just stick it to themselves? And it works?”

“I can't claim experience since it's not really _my_ personal aesthetic, but my friends say good double-sided tape works wonders.”

“Huh,” Hashirama says contemplatively. “Makes sense.”

“Well, it’s getting late. I should get going.”

“Want me to drive you back?”

“No, don’t bother,” Mito says, digging out her phone. “I’ll call a cab.”

“It’s not a bother.”

Mito smiles. “I know. Regardless, we have both been drinking tonight, so.”

Hashirama gets off her, and she disappears into the bathroom to adjust her blouse and hair. Hashirama adjusts his trousers, deposits their used glasses into the sink and starts tidying up. Murmurs of conversation filters in from the bedroom, and Mito exits a few seconds later, grinning to herself.

“She’s still awake?” Hashirama asks, holding up her coat.

“Yes. She was very insistent I stay. Offered to sleep on the road outside your apartment even, in case we wanted privacy.”

“Well, that’s Madara for you,” Hashirama says, touched. “If she decides you’re worth her time, she’ll be selfless to a fault.”

They exit the apartment and end up waiting in front of the building for the cab, fingers intertwined. The night’s chilly, and Hashirama feels nice. Grateful to the universe, and even more so to this absolutely wonderful woman he’s seeing.

“You know,” Hashirama says, “not to make this night any more weird than it has already been, but I’m really surprised by how cool you’re with Madara. It means a lot.”

Mito raises her brows. “What do you mean?”

Hashirama looks up at the sky. “Remember how I told you that one time that you’re basically my first girlfriend?”

“Ah,” Mito says, understanding. “I assume Madara has something to do with it?”

“Historically, every girl I have liked has been...I don’t know. Put off by how close we are. I understand why they might be, you know, _jealous._ It’s perfectly natural, I get that. People would tease us all the time when we were kids. But she’s like a sister to me and I assure you, we’ve never been attracted to each other romantically. It’s just that I cannot _logically_ prioritize someone who’s been in my life for a few days over someone’s who’s been there practically forever, you know?” He sighs and shakes his head. “And the worst part is that I think at some level, Madara feels guilty about it. She tries to keep her distance whenever there’s someone new in my life so that she doesn’t drive them away. Which, while appreciated, is depressing and frustrating and something she shouldn’t have to do. So,” he finishes, suddenly feeling very lame, “I’m really glad that you’ve been so accommodating tonight.”

When he looks down at Mito, he finds her staring at him with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, more to herself than him.

Hashirama gives an awkward laugh. “Sorry if that was weird.”

Mito’s lips curl in a smile. “It wasn’t weird at all.”

“No, just interesting," he teases.

“I’m a psychology major, Hashirama. I’m allowed my observations.”

Mito’s cab pulls up to the curb and Hashirama bends down to kiss her. “Text me when you get home,” he murmurs against her smile.

“I will,” she promises. “See you on Wednesday?”

“See you on Wednesday.”

Hashirama waits till the car disappears around the corner and makes his way back up to his apartment, with a spring in his step. He chugs down some more wine straight from the bottle, strips down to his boxers and climbs under the blankets next to Madara before his bare skin can register the change in temperature.

“Mito?” Madara mumbles.

“She just left,” Hashirama whispers.

Madara makes an incoherent noise of affirmation. “Sorry. I really did forget that you’d have her over.”

“Don’t apologise. She was okay with it.”

“Hm. Good. She’s a good one.”

Hashirama grins. “I am still going to send you on the world’s largest guilt trip later, however.”

“Let’s see you fucking _try.”_

Hashirama feels indescribably sad all of a sudden. They don’t have all that much time left before they have to go into the world as actual, independent adults, leaving the last vestiges of their childhood behind. Soon, they’ll end up on different paths. He’ll have his own family, his own wife and children and career, and Madara will be relegated to an intermittent presence in his life: the cool, spinster aunt who drops by once a year before fucking off to live a life of adventure and glamour.

Hashirama’s wine-drunk and there’s an iron hand pressing against his breastbone that makes it hard for him to breathe. He wants to reach out and pull Madara closer to himself, enjoy the warmth of her companionship and the sharpness of her elbows while he still can, and so he does.

* * *

Madara stirs to wakefulness to the sun trying to viciously burn her face and brain away. She gropes around blindly, finds what feels like a pillow, and smothers her face with it. The mattress dips as someone sits next to her hip.

“Hashirama,” she croaks pitifully.

“Madara,” Hashirama says evenly.

Madara lowers the pillow, and with great effort, manages to crack her eyelids open. “Why are the curtains not drawn.”

Hashirama pretends to think about it. “Well,” he says after a while, “you crashed my date last night.”

Madara groans as some questionable memories swim back to the forefront of her brain. “Did I...call myself a femme fatale?”

“You did."

"Ugh."

"You also insulted me repeatedly in front of Mito, and then thoroughly embarrassed yourself by trying to rope all of us into a threesome. After that, you offered to go sleep outside on the road to give the both of us space.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You can ask Mito, if you want proof.”

“Ugh. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried, but then you started throwing your shoes at me. Also, didn’t you have a date last night?”

“Got cancelled.”

Hashirama grins and pokes her exactly where she's the most ticklish, which makes her flinch, which in turn makes her nauseous. “Wow, someone actually had the guts to stand the great Madara Uchiha up?”

“Please.” Even though everything throbs, Madara manages a venomous scoff. “We rescheduled. The guy had texted me on time, but since I’d already gotten ready by then, I decided to go ahead and hit the club anyway.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Can you get me some water?” Madara asks pathetically. “And some paracetamol?”

“Nope,” Hashirama says cheerfully. “Madara, you cockblocked me—”

“Don’t be crude this early in the morning, Hashirama. Yuck.”

“You blocked my cock, and therefore I must make you feel as bad as possible. Both emotionally and physically.”

“Fuck off. Today’s still Sunday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“God, I have that extra class at 2 p.m. I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t. Oh, the one good thing about the entire affair is that you don’t have to apologise to Mito for your behaviour. She thinks you are very cute and is looking forward to meeting you again.”

“Kill me,” she groans. “Please. Hashirama, if you have any kindness left in your heart, end me right now. Do you have any idea what this will do to my reputation? What if she goes spreading it around?”

Hashirama pats her on the head in mock commiseration. “Seems like your personal problem, not mine.”

“I despise you.”

“No you don’t.” Hashirama stands and stretches, ending with a satisfied sigh, which turns into a yawn. “If you want to eat something, I’m making instant ramen.”

“Don’t suppose room service is an option, is it?”

“Nope,” Hashirama chirps and steps away when she tries to swat at him. “If you want some, come get some.”

“Make a block for me. I’ll get there eventually. Did you do your laundry yet?”

Hashirama winces. “No. You can borrow a shirt and a pair of my boxers instead.”

“Cool. And Hashirama? Can you draw the curtains when you leave, please? ...Hashirama. Hashirama! You asshole, get back here!”

Hashirama’s laughter, as bright and hateful as the sunshine, follows him all the way out of the bedroom and to the kitchenette.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a love letter to my 6 years of college lol. Chapters will not be in chronological order, but I will put up a post on Tumblr or somewhere with stuff in the correct order for those who might prefer it that way.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments/corrections etc. appreciated.


End file.
